


486. Finding my peace of mind

by SevlinRipley



Category: It - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Jewish Character, Caretaking, Come Eating, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Edging, Established Relationship, Food, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Lap-sitting, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Reach Around, Reinforced Good Behavior, Rimming, Teasing, illness mention, past drug use mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-25 20:47:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14985272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SevlinRipley/pseuds/SevlinRipley
Summary: He pressed a kiss to Richie's neck, upon scooping his hair back. "You smell good. You showered already?" Richie nodded, going stiff as he felt Stan's hand coming around to his front, following the waist band of the loose sweats he had on until he found Richie's hard-on and folded his fingers over the top. "You drink some water for me?"





	486. Finding my peace of mind

Looking back over his shoulder as he heard the front door open and close, Richie stilled the knife over the cutting board, and bit into his lower lip, waiting for Stan to appear around the corner. A small smile tugged his mouth up, watching Stan put the rolled-up newspaper on the table, having already hung his keys up on the hook beside the door, before he swept forward. With an arm around Richie's waist, Stan crowded up against his back. He kissed Richie's cheekbone, and as Richie began chopping the red pepper in front of him once more, Stan said, "Sorry. I had to run an errand. Did you enjoy sleeping in?"

Richie laughed, somewhat bitterly as he twisted his head just enough to look at Stanley from the corner of his eye. "I don't think I slept much longer than you, actually. What was your errand?"

"Stuff for the garden," Stan said, voice soft and low before he pressed a kiss to Richie's neck, upon scooping his hair back. "You smell good. You showered already?" Richie nodded, going stiff as he felt Stan's hand coming around to his front, following the waist band of the loose sweats he had on until he found Richie's hard-on and folded his fingers over the top. "You drink some water for me?"

His eyes fell closed; couldn't fucking take the breathy way Stan was talking into his neck, just barely brushing his lips over his skin, hand not moving, just resting at his hip and over his front. Richie set the knife down, and swallowed. "Two cups."

Stanley laughed softly, and then gave Richie's cock a stroke over his pants, reveling in the way Richie keened and leaned back into him, hips jutting out into the touch. "Eager to start the day right, huh?"

Richie whined softly as Stanley squeezed at the head of his erection, pulling precum out, into the fibers of his sweats. "I woke up before a wet dream fucking finished. Can you believe that shit?"

Smirking, Stanley licked out at his lips and then grazed Richie's neck with his teeth, humming, pleased. "Maybe your subconscious has different priorities, hm? Maybe you like it better when I take care of you."

Wet dreams were freebies, and even if Stanley caught him having one, he wouldn't have interrupted. It was hot watching his cock twitch against his stomach as he made these soft little noises in the back of his throat. Pretty watching the way his cum would dribble out, weak. A gentle orgasm. A testament to how wound up Richie sometimes got from his waking denial. "It's not your dream's fault you didn't get to cum yesterday, is it?" Stanley said, teasing.

"I was _busy_ ," Richie said, turning his head then, effectively pressing Stan's nose into his cheek. "It's not like I _meant_ to forget to put my lunch order in."

"Well, that's good," Stanley said, amused, but serious at the same time.

He had been worried, after a few days, that the rules might start having a negative effect rather than a positive one. That Richie might find excuses not to cum because he just loved being teased so much. Luckily it was only for a week, and more for fun than anything. An interlude to their usual daily routine. And if Richie really wanted to, he could always ask Stan to make the opposite true.

Denial if he met his goals. Forced to cum if he didn't. But so far, Richie had been enjoying the end of his nights enough to at least make it _close_ to his goal. Even if sometimes, like last night, he didn't quite get there. Ended up going to bed so horny the sheet lying over his cock was almost too much to bear.

Stanley was most impressed by the fact Richie hadn't humped himself to orgasm yet, or been caught touching himself without permission. He knew Stan well enough to take the threat of chastity seriously. If Richie _did_ get caught doing either of those things, he was gonna get himself locked up for an entire week without anything but anal play, and - _Have fun getting hard in a cage_.

"Cause that'd be cheating if you did. And you know what cheaters get as punishment," Stanley finished, stroking Richie's cock again, slowly, swallowing up the breathless little 'please' it drew from Richie's lips, with a kiss.

Cheaters had to earn being touched for a whole twenty-four-plus hours of good behavior. A whole day's break of their game until they admitted defeat and drank their eight glasses of water a day and had their three square meals. No scarfing down said meals, either. No chugging of water. Evenly spread out and _healthy_.

"I'm - I'm making a veggie omelette," Richie said eyes screwed shut as Stan's hand dropped to cup his balls through his pants, thumbing at them softly while his other hand trailed up from Richie's hip bone to pinch one of his dusky nipples.

With a proud kiss to Richie's shoulder, Stan surveyed the evidence. The pan wasn't being heated on anything but Low. Good. "Turn the oven off, Richie. Let's get you edged twice. _Then_ we can have breakfast; I can take care of you again after. Sound good?" Richie nodded with fervor, desperate to be touched more.

He'd been eager for it since he woke up with his cock hard, so close to release, already edged once, practically, and found that Stan wasn't there to offer sympathy. No soft pets to the side of Richie's head, no chaste kisses to his mouth. No words of encouragement, or those drenched in faux-pity. No teasing offers of getting Richie a water bottle, himself. Alone with his cock aching and only himself to be held responsible if he broke a rule. It hadn't been fair. And admittedly, he'd drunk his water faster than Stan would normally be happy with, but he just wanted to ensure that he got _touched_ when Stan came back.

Richie did as he was told, flipping the dial on the stove to turn the burner off, and turned to find Stan closing their 'junk' drawer (not that everything in it wasn't meticulously organized, with purpose) with a small bottle of lube in hand. Sometimes Stan would do it dry, draw it out, let the patchy waves of pleasure keep Richie against him much longer than usual. He supposed since today, he needed two right off the bat, Stan wasn't going to take _so_ much time. But just in case, Richie slid the cutting board and its contents into the fridge, along with the carton of eggs, so they'd keep fresh.

Then Stanley was pulling out a kitchen table chair and sitting in it, his knees primly held together at the front, squeezing some of the lube into his hand before clicking the bottle closed and setting it down near the paper. "Take your sweats off and come here," Stanley said, smiling with his eyes as he raked them over Richie's body, as he let his pants fall to the floor.

Coming up close, Richie let himself be guided around with one hand, back to Stan, and lowered onto the tops of Stanley's thighs. Knees spread to the outside, and Stanley told him, "Feet up," communicating to Richie that he should slot his feet behind the structural bars at the sides of the chair, so that he could squirm less easily.

Immediately, once settled, Stanley's lubed-up hand was on Richie's cock, stroking from the base up as Richie shuddered against him at the long-awaited feeling of it. Head thrown back against Stan's shoulder. "Feel good, baby?"

"Fuck, yeah," Richie sighed, hands gripping the base of the seat, holding himself still as his stomach muscles clenched. "Jesus fucking Christ I already feel close."

Stanley laughed at that, almost cold as he drew the tip of his nose up the length of Richie's neck, and back down again before biting into the meat of his freckled shoulder. Richie's hips jerked slightly at that, but he stilled as soon as Stanley swirled his tongue over the pained area, and instantly stopped stroking him. "Do you want to be touched?" Stan asked, voice dark in a way that told Richie he was bordering on being left alone for the rest of the day.

"Please, please, I'm sorry. It just feels so good when you bite me," Richie said, pressing tiny, soft kisses all over Stanley's face where he could reach, apologetic.

His tone grew much warmer then, a rumble erupting from his chest, pleased, before he said, "I'm glad it feels good, sweetheart. That's all I want for you... I just want you to feel good, for your body to be happy and healthy and good to you."

"I know," Richie said, softly, into the underneath of Stan's jaw. "I'm trying. I mean it, Stanley. Even after this is done, I'll keep trying, I promise."

Stan gave in, then, stroking Richie's cock, steady, again. Delighting in the way Richie's jaw dropped open, made it easier for him to kiss into his mouth. Making Richie's tongue tingle as he sucked at it, muting the soft moans that came along with every jerk of Richie's shoulders together as he tried to evade the temptation of an orgasm. He'd gotten fairly good at being edged. Knowing how to bite back from the edge, draw it out a little bit longer so that he _really_ knew what it felt like to be on the precipice. 

That talent was what made it especially fun to see Richie in this state. Where he was practically writhing at the first touch, because he hadn't cum after being close nine damn times in so many hours. Knowing he'd have to _keep_ going until that number hit seventeen. And only if he managed to get his full count in, would he get to finally have it.

When Stanley broke the kiss, he pushed Richie's face to look forward, with the tip of his nose, while his free hand ran ticklishly soft over Richie's inner thigh, loving the way the skin jumped and goosebumps raised. The way Richie would huff out, almost on a laugh, before it'd get cut off by a moan as Stan fingered his perineum and toyed with the sensitive head of his ruddy, leaking cock. "You promise for me, or you promise for you?" Stanley asked softly, hot breath ghosting over Richie's ear.

"Wh-" Richie was too lost, for a moment. Gone and drowning in the intense pool of heat swelling in his gut.

"You promise to take care of yourself for me? Or do you promise to take care of yourself for _you_?" Stan reiterated, helping Richie by piecing the question together without so much vagueness. Over time, Stan and Ben, both, had gotten their partners to stop smoking even socially. Not through force, or guilt. Or demeaning.

But through heartfelt conversation, hand-holding, and soft kisses over pecks and breasts, and therefore lungs, over throats, the sides of noses, tickling of tongues, finger tips and nails that were somewhat yellow with nicotine, and tortuously slow oral sex, all of which was merely a suggestion. 'I would _like_ for these parts of you to be healthy and safe.' Mixed in with a little bit of crudeness aimed in particular, at Richie, who could appreciate it: 'Your cum would taste better if you didn't put tobacco in your body and I wanna blow you without thinking about you getting terminally ill, as soon as I swallow. _If that's okay with you, someday._ '

It worked, over time. Not instantly. There was a lot of back-and-forth, and occasionally the self-imposed shame of hiding cigarettes in book bindings, and tucked inside the winter socks as the bottom of the bureau. It'd been a long while now, though, since either of them smoked, and Stanley was proud every single day.

When Richie's lips started cracking open every day due to dehydration though, and he got light-headed from being over-worked and not diligent enough at all about taking a break and getting something into his empty stomach, consistently over the last few weeks, Stanley decided, yet again, to try and make it worth Richie's time and effort. But even though it was Stanley's concern, initially that propelled these things, he wanted, more than anything, for _Richie_ to want them. For him to want to come home and say what a great day he had, energized by productivity over survival-mode Adrenalin.

"Can... Can it be both," Richie asked, clearly treading lightly, trying not to lose Stan's hand again.

Cute as fuck, Stanley couldn't help but laugh into Richie's neck, pick his pace up along Richie's cock, as he said, "Yeah, sure... It can be both, Richie. Thank you." He fondled at Richie's balls then, gauging how tight they were, lightly turning them over in his hand before having it come up to polish the head of Richie's cock until the boy on top of him was panting too hard to actually be breathing, too caught up to tell Stanley that he couldn't take anymore.

All at once, Stan pulled his hands away, goose pimples dotting his own skin at the half-scream Richie let out in frustration as he tensed, and then fell back into Stan full-body, disappointment pooling as a pulsating ache in his balls, cock twitching furiously against his stomach trying to find some kind of friction.

Letting Richie come down, the fire dissipate within his bowels, Stanley mused softly, dragging fingertips and smooth edges of nails over his abdomen, all around the outside of Richie's erection, "I wonder how long it would take to condition you to get hard just from drinking water. What d'you think, Rich, should we try to find out? Hm? Get you aching and ready for me without even playing with you? At work, in restaurants, at amusement parks and concerts and dinner parties and our friends' homes? Every time I hand you a cup of water you get hard and wet for me."

Richie groaned, stretching out his tight muscles while Stanley held him firm and safe in his lap, no risk of Richie destabilizing himself and ending up on the floor. "You're fucking evil, Stanley Uris," he said around a smile, breathing finally evening out more as he turned to look up at Stan. "I love you so much..."

Stanley smiled, warm, at that and pecked a kiss to Richie's lips. "Love you, too."

Just like with the actual water and meals, Stanley liked to spread Richie's edges out as much as possible. Remind Richie, for as much of the day as he could, that Richie was his and that Stan wanted him to take care of himself, and be good to himself _for_ himself _and_ for Stanley. So he offered Richie something in the middle of the two he promised before breakfast.

"You wanna eat me out, sweetheart?" Stanley asked, pressing another kiss to Richie's shoulder. Richie's eyes lit up, eyebrows arching, looking hopeful. Nuzzling his nose into the side of Richie's, Stanley said, "Go ahead, then. Tell me how much you want it..."

" _Fuck_. You know I want to, sugar... _Please_ ," Richie begged, rubbing his temple against Stan's. "Please let me eat you out; I'll make you feel so good, I swear to God."

He'd once been asked to proof-read Richie's resume, only to find the idiot had put 'ass-eating' under 'Personal Applicable Skills/Hobbies' and as true as most of that was, Stan did _not_ actually think it was applicable, since the only ass Richie'd been eating for three months (at the time) prior, had been Stanley's. Still, it made him smile to know Richie enjoyed it so much. That same night, while Stan laid on his side, one leg over Richie's shoulder and back, with Richie's laptop pulled close for editing, Richie had proven it once more, joking that if he got Stanley hot and bothered he'd have to leave it on, because Richie would've earned it.

Heart stuttering at the gentle touch, Stanley hugged Richie tight to his chest, arms circled around Richie's lithe waist.

Tone sweet, Stanley said, "Okay, good boy, go get your cuffs for me," gently patting at Richie's pale thighs.

"Which ones, Stanny" Richie asked, already unlocking his knees from over Stan's thighs, not even stretching them out before standing on shaky legs.

Stan smiled, soft, at him and the way he went wobbly for a second, before catching himself on the edge of the table. "Just the handcuffs," he said, brushing a hand down Richie's side, warm and calming. "The comfortable ones." The more realistic cuffs were only for when he wanted to bind Richie's hands at his front, while he teased Richie's cock with a vibrator, or even just while they kissed, for foreplay. He didn't ever want to see Richie's wrists rubbed raw.

With Richie heading back toward their bedroom, Stan rose from the chair and stretched himself out for a few good moments, then began undressing. He draped his clothing over the back of the chair. He ran his hands down, over his own backside, feeling that it was still soft and smooth enough since their last appointment that it wouldn't be coarse along Richie's cheeks. Cheeks he'd pressed his face to enough to know that Richie had shaved his face that morning, as well, despite having been toying with the idea of growing out his facial hair. Stan supposed the rim job was just too powerful a force for him, to commit just yet.

They met in the living room, Richie clasping the handcuffs to his stomach, rolling his shoulders back in an attempt to get his arms as pliant as possible.

Taking the cuffs from Richie, Stan stood at his back, and pulled one wrist back at a time, latching them together at the curve of Richie's backside, before running his hands up the length of Richie's arms. He massaged his thumbs into Richie's shoulders, fingertips brushing Richie's neck as he asked, "Are you gonna behave and not hump the couch, or do you need to be on your knees?"

Richie looked to the couch, thought about how the cushions would feel against his needy cock, and instantly felt a shiver run down his spine. "Uh," Richie said, throat dry, "...Knees."

"Okay, go ahead," Stan said, gripping Richie's bicep for support as he kneed up onto the couch and sat back on his calves, waiting for Stan to lay down on the next two cushions before lowering himself.

Once Stan had his legs stretched out, one over the back of the couch, and the other held up in one hand, ass budged up by a throw pillow, Richie tipped forward. Carefully finding his balance before letting the saliva he'd begun collecting in the hollows of his mouth, drip out slowly over Stan's hole, before licking a stripe up his perineum and balls. Sucking at the underside of Stan's cock while he waited for more spit to pool into his mouth before he allowed that collect in Stan's crack as well.

He watched, for a moment, heavy-lidded, as Stan began jerking himself off with his free hand, and then licked all the way up between his ass before circling the hole with his tongue. Stanley stretched his legs apart and up as much as he could tolerate, to give Richie enough access, a familiar pull against his skin beading up precum at the head of his erection.

Stan preferred this position, rather than having Richie kneel on the floor, so that he practically had to hold himself up by pressing into Stan's ass, tongue delving deeper as his lips curved around Stanley's hole, and Richie sucked at him. Intermittently spitting around his hole to make sure it was wet and pleasant enough for Stanley, so that his tongue could slip in with ease as he brushed as far back into Stanley's insides as the length and flat, and point of his tongue would let him.

With a guttural moan, Stanley let his head fall back, thumbing at the vein under the head of his cock. "Aren't you glad you shaved your face for me this morning?"

"Mnmm," was the only sound Richie could make, nose buried just under Stan's sack, and his chin pressed into the curve of Stanley's ass to boot, tonguing and sucking at him with as much vigor as a kid going at an ice cream cone.

He managed a smile at the blissed out way Richie had his eyes close, his glasses bumped up by his budged-up cheeks, with his open mouth, when he tipped his head up enough to look down at Richie's face. A shock of pleasure went through him as Richie managed to spit deep inside him, and he felt it rolling down his insides, making him feel more open than he actually was. Then Richie was fucking his tongue into him until Stanley's head dropped back again, Adam's apple bobbing on a soft cry while he set about stripping his cock faster. Wanting to feel himself clench down around his firmed up tongue, cumming over his belly. It didn't take much. Just his own nails biting into his inner thigh as he stroked his dick, and pictured Richie's hard-on pressed between Richie's legs and stomach, being squeezed just enough to keep him wanting, with precum dropping in the crevasse of his thighs.

Then Stan was arching up into Richie's tongue, gasping out Richie's name, "Oh _fuck_ , Richie, yeah baby, so good!" As Richie whined, pleased, around his hole. Lapping at him after Stan's hips fell back to the cushion and his legs fell down and open, chest pink and heaving.

Stanley found the crown of Richie's head, and began petting at his hair while Richie kept licking at his crack, happy to feel the tremors of Stan's body against him, until Stan tugged gently at his hair and scalp. "Okay baby, come clean me up with that pretty tongue of yours..." he said, sitting up and getting his flat palms between Richie's arms and chest, to pull him up so that he could be stretched over Stanley's abdomen, instead.

Richie made a small noise in the back of his throat, grateful and pleased as he began kitten-licking it up, and playfully eyeing Stan before drawing shapes in his cum with the tip of his tongue before smiling, cat-got-the-cream as he pulled it into his mouth. Self-proud when Stan shook his head and smiled, amused, still carding his fingers over Richie's scalp.

Once done, with Richie back, standing on his feet, Stan stood before him, nipped at his jaw, and then kissed at the corner of his mouth while contemplating how he wanted to edge Richie next. "You feel good, baby? Feel like cumming?"

Groaning, Richie threw his forehead into the side of Stan's neck, shoulders bowing to rest against Stanley's. "No cum-teases until at least the fifth edge, Stan..."

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Sir Sly's "High"


End file.
